


Comfort

by royaltyisshe64



Category: Billary - Fandom, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyisshe64/pseuds/royaltyisshe64
Summary: President Obama receives a late-night phone call.





	Comfort

November 1, 2011

“Secretary Clinton on the line for you, sir.” The White House operator’s tone carried a hint of befuddlement, which Barack shared. If Hillary wanted to call him about something personal – and it couldn’t possibly be work-related today, at this hour – she had his cell number. There was no need to endure the hassle of working through the switchboard, providing the requisite confirmations of identity.

“Put her through, please.”

Recognizing the sound of a successful connection, he swiftly broke the silence. “Hillary?”

“Mr. President, it’s Secretary Clinton. I’m so sorry to bother you.” Barack could hear the tremble that presaged barely dammed tears, despite the speed with which she rattled off her transparently pre-rehearsed greeting. The formality, he realized, was an attempt to detach, to say what she intended to say without falling to pieces. Outward toughness masking a profoundly vulnerable interior.

“Hillary. It’s no bother at all. How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she said automatically, almost defensively. “I just – I wanted to thank you. For what you said earlier about –“ Her voice cracked. “About my mother.” She was definitely crying now, but continued regardless, valiantly retaining some modicum of composure. “I – we all really appreciated it, and she would have been so proud.”

_Sobbing._

There was _sobbing_ on the other end of the line.

Even as well as he had come to know Hillary Rodham Clinton over the past few years, adding dimension to and softening the edges of his conception of the woman so many deemed a bitch, this was uncharted territory for Barack, and he felt an almighty wrench to his heartstrings.

“She already was proud, Hillary. So proud of you. Every time I met her, I could see that.”

Despite his most soothing tone, the heaving, shuddering breaths intensified. There was a sudden, overwhelming impulse to hold her. That being physically impossible, he was at something of a loss.

“God, I’m sorry,” Hillary managed to reiterate shakily. “It’s st-stupid of me to be such a mess. Mom was 92; she was sick.”

“When you lose your mother, none of that matters. Where there’s love and loss, there’s pain, plain and simple. Besides, you’re the furthest thing from ‘stupid’ there is. You’re forbidden from saying that. Ever. Executive order.” He prayed that made her smile. “Have you slept?”

“No. Arrangements. Even when you know it’s coming, there are always arrangements.”

Barack briefly considered proposing that Hugh and Tony pick up their share of responsibility for what he, in his limited exposure to Rodham family dynamics, considered to be a change, but thought better of it. “Honey” – _where did that come from? ‘Honey’?_ – “you need to get some rest. Where’s Bill?”

“Downstairs.” He heard her take a long sip of something. Recalling acutely the pain of losing his own mother, he hoped ardently that whatever it was was strong. She deserved it. “Getting food. Apparently I haven’t had anything besides coffee since yesterday.”

“Everybody else?”

“Gone, thank God. Now I don’t have to –“ Hillary broke off abruptly. He understood. The façade of strength could safely come down. Barack felt a curious awe, a sense of privilege, that he’d been allowed, however briefly, however inadvertently, behind the curtain. A clearing of the throat. An attempt to salvage some dignity she wrongly thought she’d lost. “Anyway. Thanks. You’ve been wonderful about – all of this. I’ll be back on the job as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He corrected himself: “ _Try_ not to worry about it. All this can wait. You take care of yourself.”

“I don’t think that’s how geopolitics works.” There was a faint smile in her voice. “But I’ll do my best. Just a sec, babe.” He jolted slightly before comprehending that Bill must have entered the room. “Billy, I’m not hungry. Not _that_ hungry. Hang on.” His temporary status as domestic interloper ended as instantaneously as he’d attained it. “I should let you go. Thank you. Again. My love to Michelle and the girls.”

“Good night, Hillary. Love you,” he added impulsively, nanoseconds before he heard the click of disconnection.

“Is there something I should know about?” Barack nearly jumped out of his skin. He had no idea his wife had even entered the room. Her grin reassured him. “How’s she holding up?”

“She’s devastated, but powering through.”

“Typical Hillary.”

“Right.” He thought for a moment; Michelle, long since accustomed to his contemplative pauses, waited patiently, putting her arm around him as she joined her husband on the sofa. “You know, I do love her. Not like Joe –“

“Bless his heart.” She had also learned that it was perfectly acceptable to pepper those gaps with comments of her own.

“Every single Cabinet meeting he’s mooning over her like some little lost puppy –“

“And she’s completely oblivious.”

“Right.”

“Bless _her_ heart.”

They laughed.

“But seriously,” he continued, “Hillary Clinton at close quarters is… very different from what I assumed she’d be. And their marriage –“

“Oh, she’s nuts about him. Whenever he pays any kind of attention to her, she practically glows. It just breaks my heart.”

“You don’t think he loves her?”

“Maybe, but after all the shit he pulled? If you love somebody – _really love somebody_ – you don’t do that to them. Not publicly. Not over and over again.”

“Mmm.” Barack fell silent, this time uninterrupted. Considering what he’d seen, what he’d overheard, he wasn’t sure he agreed. Bill’s motivations for straying remained an elusive, exasperating mystery to him, and he couldn’t honestly say that he didn’t take some degree of umbrage on Hillary’s behalf. However, he had detected everything from pride to affection to tenderness to outright lust in the way the former president looked at his wife. What existed between the two of them was real. Of that much he was certain. And he thought it might not be as unfathomably complicated as it appeared. Any argument on his part would appear to be an apologia for philandering, though; keeping his own counsel seemed the wisest move. Better to voice another thought that had occurred to him. “I feel guilty.”

He glanced at his wife, a skeptical gaze meeting sincerity. “What about?”

“If it wasn’t for me, Dorothy Rodham might well have seen her daughter become President of the United States.” Suddenly, that fact, that reality, hit him, settling heavy in his gut, twisting uncomfortably there. “Jesus.” He found himself choking on thick emotion.

Michelle had no answer to that, ready or otherwise. All she could do was hold him tightly, kiss his temple.

\--

At Whitehaven, Bill Clinton wrapped himself gently around his wife, applying kisses to her tear-tracked cheeks and humming her softly to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I wrote something! Still working on getting myself back into Gravity, but, in the interim, I hope this isn't totally rubbish. Thanks so much to all of you who still care about my writing - I find it inexplicable, but trust that it is massively appreciated.


End file.
